Jesus, dude. What's with the track suits? Do you own a single thing that doesn't have Beaver Canoe or Northern Reflections written on it? They're called "jeans", and they've worked since the mid fifties so maybe you should stop raging against the status quo already. Just because all of the girls are taller than you right now doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to stay unattractive to them. While we're on the subject, those steps you have in the side of your head? Yeah, they're yesterday as of next month. Do you honestly believe MC Hammer will be playing arenas in ten years? What is your damage?
Yes, you must think you're cool being the first in your class to own C+C Music Factory's album, but get this: you'll be able to hold 10,000 songs on something the size of your thumbnail in less than twenty years while you're wasting your fifteen minutes of fame on a fucking cassette tape. You should be out in the yard with the cool kids helping them pick on the weak and ugly instead of designing your own movie posters in your science book, asshole.
Darryl Winkler is having a house party two blocks away while his parents are in Acapulco and here you are watching Die Hard 2 in your parent's darkened basement for the billionth time. Steal that bottle of Sauza from the liquor cabinet since you're parents never touch booze anymore and show up at that party a hero. No? You'd rather piss away a golden opportunity at popularity to see McClane fight Colonel Stewart on the plane's wing again? Your loss, ass-munch.
Nice guys finish last, and here you are doe-eyed and submissive to any half-attractive girl that talks to you. You're one of few kids who bring a lunch box to school, shouldn't you be in the remedial class using safety scissors when you sport that sort of look?
Ask Tanya out already. She honestly likes you and you think she's hot, but no, you think public school dating requires effort of some kind you have no knowledge of. BULLSHIT. You don't "date" in public school, idiot. You hold hands in the hall to demonstrate you've marked your territory. In a couple years, you'll want to stick your Thing in this girl, but that won't happen because to her you were just that bashful little schmuck that never asked her out. Swish that around in your mouth and let me know how it tastes, and take that abomination of a retainer out before you do you poltergeist.
Oh, and one more thing: stop being a Redskins fan after they win the Superbowl this year.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
AND NOW, A WORD FROM THE GUY CREEPING ON THE DANCEFLOOR
"Dude, there is so much drunk, horny trim out here tonight! We are walking away with pussy tonight or my name ain't Ricky Jakobi!"
I actually suck at dancing. I've never actually made the honest attempt to be good at it, since I'm even to embarrassed to practice in front of the mirror. Instead, we wait for the girls to pack up the dance floor like they always do, then randomly shove away around, grind a few asses without permission, maybe even cop a quick feel in the dark or two if it's congested enough!
"Oh, bro, that fine-looking chick in COMPLETELY eye-fucking me right now. I just make a movement."
I am too pathetic to "make a movement". Chances are the girl isn't actually checking me out, because I'm shallow and only try to grind the most attractive member of each girls' group. I don't want to look like a fraidy-cat in front of my friends, so I'll think up some vague, macho-Confucius excuse that lets me off the hook:
"Aw shit, man. Can't move in on that, there's no run-off for you. No friends with her. Let's move on, bros before hos! Let's take a lap!"
Whew. That was a close one. I managed to save face and all I had to do was kill my soul for a bit. Getting a drink from the way-too overcrowded bar area should kill time. Maybe I'll bump into a girl so wasted she'll give me those "You'll do" eyes and I'll move in on it. As long as she doesn't pass out before insertion, there's nothing wrong with it. Whoop, another girl facing away from me, think I'll grind my throbbing semi against her leg. Oh, shit. She 's not into me, she's making that move when she goes to the other side of her group of friends. Well, I'm a drunk fuckstick who thinks musical perversion is a sure-fire pick-up method, so I'll just keep chasing her around. I'm sure she'll cave soon.
"Hey, I'm having an after-hours party back at my place after the doors swing wide, ladies! You should join us! What, you have to 'work tomorrow'? Your loss, sluts!"
That after hours party always has, and always will be my and my fellow douchebag friends here watching movies in the dark after we get home, not even finishing our first opened beer. Tomorrow, we will tell stories from last night that we were all there for and boast about who out drank who, because hey.... that is all we have in our sad lives, which we sometimes wish would just simply end.
I actually suck at dancing. I've never actually made the honest attempt to be good at it, since I'm even to embarrassed to practice in front of the mirror. Instead, we wait for the girls to pack up the dance floor like they always do, then randomly shove away around, grind a few asses without permission, maybe even cop a quick feel in the dark or two if it's congested enough!
"Oh, bro, that fine-looking chick in COMPLETELY eye-fucking me right now. I just make a movement."
I am too pathetic to "make a movement". Chances are the girl isn't actually checking me out, because I'm shallow and only try to grind the most attractive member of each girls' group. I don't want to look like a fraidy-cat in front of my friends, so I'll think up some vague, macho-Confucius excuse that lets me off the hook:
"Aw shit, man. Can't move in on that, there's no run-off for you. No friends with her. Let's move on, bros before hos! Let's take a lap!"
Whew. That was a close one. I managed to save face and all I had to do was kill my soul for a bit. Getting a drink from the way-too overcrowded bar area should kill time. Maybe I'll bump into a girl so wasted she'll give me those "You'll do" eyes and I'll move in on it. As long as she doesn't pass out before insertion, there's nothing wrong with it. Whoop, another girl facing away from me, think I'll grind my throbbing semi against her leg. Oh, shit. She 's not into me, she's making that move when she goes to the other side of her group of friends. Well, I'm a drunk fuckstick who thinks musical perversion is a sure-fire pick-up method, so I'll just keep chasing her around. I'm sure she'll cave soon.
"Hey, I'm having an after-hours party back at my place after the doors swing wide, ladies! You should join us! What, you have to 'work tomorrow'? Your loss, sluts!"
That after hours party always has, and always will be my and my fellow douchebag friends here watching movies in the dark after we get home, not even finishing our first opened beer. Tomorrow, we will tell stories from last night that we were all there for and boast about who out drank who, because hey.... that is all we have in our sad lives, which we sometimes wish would just simply end.
Friday, April 6, 2012
TOP 10: Songs That Can Go To Hell
I've been a disc jockey for one full decade now. If there is one thing that baffles me about this remarkably easy and basically fun job, it's how people can still love the same shitty songs and sing along with them for the 5000th fucking time. Some songs I could never get sick of. You can never get tired of hearing a song like "Got To Give It Up" because they are simply too awesome and pretty much impossible to hate.
And then there's the songs that make you wish it was possible to un-produce a track. And the biggest turds in that large bowl are:
10) MacArthur Park by Richard Harris
A great actor hyper-dramatically sings his way through what feels like seven hours of WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!! This song is responsible for half the suicides in America before the 1980's. Donna Fucking Summer remade it into a disco hit. What's next, a rain of blood?
9) Strokin' by Clarence Carter
Not a hit at first, Mr. Carter blessed the wedding world with a perfectly dull song for 55-year-old people to screw to. The only people who dance/fuck to this song are people who were too old to watch Magnum P.I. Christ, it puts bad visions in my head.
8) Amazed by Lonestar
To make a hit country song, just make it slow and talk about how beautiful a woman is. The next thing you know, ten million rubes with two first names and boots made out of a deadly snake will think of you a musical genius. I am yet to DJ a wedding where somebody with a moustache or bola tie hasn't demanded this song "For my wife. It was our wedding song." Real original, Jesco.
7) The Time of my Life- Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes
If somebody requests this instantly dated migraine, first I look at them like they gave away the ending to a movie. Then I play it, because if you've been to a wedding full of drunk W.A.S.Ps you know what's next-- some idiot couple is going to try that "lift move" from Dirty Dancing, only they don't realize that Patrick Swayze is a chiseled and all-powerful sexy Greek God, and Jennifer Grey is 5'1". Instead, you get something better: humiliation and contusions when they collapse into the head table. And I laugh. Caution: insulting this song in front of a creature sporting a vagina can result in a no-sex finish to your night.
6) Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground
I will give you a million dollars if you can give me one logical reason why this uber-dull song was a number one hit for over a month. No takers? Here's one: it has the word "sex" in the title. That's the only reason. If you don't believe me, just ask Kings Of Leon.
5) What's Up by Four Non-Blondes
You know it. And no, it isn't good in any way.
4) I'll Be by Edwin McCain
Lard-assed acoustic douche Edwin McCain turned any slow dance or karaoke night for that matter into a red nightmare that seems to melt panties away like ice on a summer sidewalk for some reason. I think Edwin should probably drill a hole in his head to let the fucking sap out, personally. Contrived, over-played sentimental horseshit. If this song was any more gay, George Michael would be blowing it in a bathroom stall.
3)The Love Shack by The B52's
Women are strictly to blame for this unbelievably irritating bubble-gum faggotry, which they shriek along to like a banshee with its hand caught in a car door. Was "Rock Lobster" not a shitty enough way to make white people look like idiots? Who the fuck signed this "band" in the first place?
2) Young Girl by Gary Pucket and the Union Gap
You would have to be older than water to appreciate this song when it was released, but I think I'll let the chorus of the creepiest song ever made speak for itself:
Young girl, get out of my mind!
My love for you is way out of line!
You'd better RUN girl!
You're MUCH TOO YOUNG, GIRL!!!!
...Brrrrrrrrr. I rest my case
1) Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
I think the biggest issue with this song is that every single female in the solar system with brown eyes think that this bore is written specifically about her. They become instantly smug about it, demanding a "dance radius" so they can make themselves look like an even bigger asshole. Van Mo' made some great tunes. This was not one of them. This song is probably as overplayed as You Shook Me All Night Long, the only difference is this song licks sweaty skunk taint.
And then there's the songs that make you wish it was possible to un-produce a track. And the biggest turds in that large bowl are:
10) MacArthur Park by Richard Harris
A great actor hyper-dramatically sings his way through what feels like seven hours of WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!! This song is responsible for half the suicides in America before the 1980's. Donna Fucking Summer remade it into a disco hit. What's next, a rain of blood?
9) Strokin' by Clarence Carter
Not a hit at first, Mr. Carter blessed the wedding world with a perfectly dull song for 55-year-old people to screw to. The only people who dance/fuck to this song are people who were too old to watch Magnum P.I. Christ, it puts bad visions in my head.
8) Amazed by Lonestar
To make a hit country song, just make it slow and talk about how beautiful a woman is. The next thing you know, ten million rubes with two first names and boots made out of a deadly snake will think of you a musical genius. I am yet to DJ a wedding where somebody with a moustache or bola tie hasn't demanded this song "For my wife. It was our wedding song." Real original, Jesco.
7) The Time of my Life- Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes
If somebody requests this instantly dated migraine, first I look at them like they gave away the ending to a movie. Then I play it, because if you've been to a wedding full of drunk W.A.S.Ps you know what's next-- some idiot couple is going to try that "lift move" from Dirty Dancing, only they don't realize that Patrick Swayze is a chiseled and all-powerful sexy Greek God, and Jennifer Grey is 5'1". Instead, you get something better: humiliation and contusions when they collapse into the head table. And I laugh. Caution: insulting this song in front of a creature sporting a vagina can result in a no-sex finish to your night.
6) Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground
I will give you a million dollars if you can give me one logical reason why this uber-dull song was a number one hit for over a month. No takers? Here's one: it has the word "sex" in the title. That's the only reason. If you don't believe me, just ask Kings Of Leon.
5) What's Up by Four Non-Blondes
You know it. And no, it isn't good in any way.
4) I'll Be by Edwin McCain
Lard-assed acoustic douche Edwin McCain turned any slow dance or karaoke night for that matter into a red nightmare that seems to melt panties away like ice on a summer sidewalk for some reason. I think Edwin should probably drill a hole in his head to let the fucking sap out, personally. Contrived, over-played sentimental horseshit. If this song was any more gay, George Michael would be blowing it in a bathroom stall.
3)The Love Shack by The B52's
Women are strictly to blame for this unbelievably irritating bubble-gum faggotry, which they shriek along to like a banshee with its hand caught in a car door. Was "Rock Lobster" not a shitty enough way to make white people look like idiots? Who the fuck signed this "band" in the first place?
2) Young Girl by Gary Pucket and the Union Gap
You would have to be older than water to appreciate this song when it was released, but I think I'll let the chorus of the creepiest song ever made speak for itself:
Young girl, get out of my mind!
My love for you is way out of line!
You'd better RUN girl!
You're MUCH TOO YOUNG, GIRL!!!!
...Brrrrrrrrr. I rest my case
1) Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
I think the biggest issue with this song is that every single female in the solar system with brown eyes think that this bore is written specifically about her. They become instantly smug about it, demanding a "dance radius" so they can make themselves look like an even bigger asshole. Van Mo' made some great tunes. This was not one of them. This song is probably as overplayed as You Shook Me All Night Long, the only difference is this song licks sweaty skunk taint.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
IS OUR KIDS LEARNING?-- How to leave the children behind
For the what seems umpteen jillionth time in the past year, my utterly unnoticeable home town of London took centre stage as shit-for-brains teenagers who re-define the term "lightweights" decided that is was their lawful right to torch a CTV truck and try to kill any firefighter, cop or EMS worker that dared intervene. Granted, the cops retreated like bitches toward the crowd of 1,000 strong in full riot gear, making sure to keep their $300,000 water cannon-armed urban assault vehicle was kept sparkling in the parking garage of police headquarters while throngs of vile little turds chased tax-paying families from their homes, tore fences down, hurdled hundreds of empties at public servants and flipped vehicles over, including blowing up the earlier mentioned news truck with a barbecue propane tank.
So naturally, like the cowardly retards that ripped apart their own neighbourhoods in Vancouver almost a year ago, they posed for cameras, bragged about it on Facebook, boasted their supreme retardation on Twitter, and then allowed me to shame them world-wide right now:
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| Sometimes, I am just in awe that retard like this could even get accepted into going for a Cayman Islands Barcode Communications degree. |
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| You see, Katey Meyer, when you post something on the internet, the world owns it. And you, Katey Meyer have been owned, period. |
But then again, who's fault is it? the quick excuse for the kids that "got caught up in the moment" is to not blame THIS generation, but the generation that raised it. Well, yes and no.
Exploring the "Yes" possibility, parents collectively today are complete pussies. They don't raise their children, they DATE them. They buy they're love, never judge them with fair criticism, and never put a big mean red "X" on a test, because that might think they actually did something wrong. The horror! You know what my teacher did to stupid students in Grade Four? If you failed a test, he would march you to the front of the class and make you read you lame brained answers out loud to the class, so everyone could bask in your dumbness. That wasn't cruelty, that was tough love. And it WORKED. Had he done that nowadays 20 plus years later, They would wrap him in razor wire, dip him into a salt water tank and let sharks gnaw his legs into bloody stumps. THEN he would be fired.
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| The above whiskey dick poster boy for vasectomy was filmed tearing down a backyard fence and screaming "Fuck tha police!!" into a video camera. I guess they didn't learn anything about the small incident out west 10 months back when some innocent kids in Vancouver tripped and fell onto some mean cop's nightsticks. Except you can't lie to the camera, Einstein. |
Then you have the much stronger "No" argument: this wasn't five year olds left unattended in Tommy Lee's backyard. This was grown-ass college students destroying shit because a) It isn't theirs and b) It isn't theirs, so why the fuck not?
This is a simple case of shitheels that can't handle their booze and feed off the equally toxic attitudes of their fellow Shit-For-Brains. Hey, they're throwing bottles at the cops! I might as well too! Hey, they're shaking that van with a family of five inside it! I might as well too! You can't stop a person from being an idiot if they're an idiot. It's science. It's not like they're PAYING for their education or rent, their mommies and daddies are! And those mommies and daddies will have to be answered too when you they sent home in your second semester with a criminal record, an expelled education and a lost security deposit.
So in the end, nobody wins. You want somebody to blame? Look in the mirror. You want to stop problems like this? If a thought crosses your mind like "My son is a complete tool. And seventeen years old. Time for him to go out into the world!" then maybe you should think again. And maybe stop blaming yourself. Somebody in their late teens should know better in the first place, so THEY are the problem.
Fix them.
ZUBAZ FOR SALE: Buy my gnarly meathead pants
For Sale: One Pair of Zubaz adult male XL (the extra large is for my GUNS, bro)
You could already look fly at the gym in these like-new Zubaz, and you too could look like a retarded meathead fuckstick just like me!
Imagine how cool you'll look, walking around with your witch's brew-like energy drink, checking yourself out in the mirror when nobody's looking, or at home wacking off to your ceiling-mounted Kevin Sorbo poster. Believe me, I've done plenty of the three and it makes me the incredible-looking specimen with traps to die for that I am today. Anything to mask the fact that my soul is dying.
Some people would want to know why a guy would wear Zubaz, or do steroids. The answer is simple: to look astonishing to the ladies, faggot! There's nothing that turns on a woman more having a body that looks like a mattress a bunch of stank homeless perverts had group sex on. Do you know how many ladies have asked to touch these arms? Plenty. Granted, I never had sex with them since my generally poisonous and sexist attitude towards females serves as a deterrent, but scope these fuckin' BICEPS, bro. You quiver in jealousy and fear, don't you?
So you need to buy these fucking Zubaz. You too could have the legs of a baggy gay zebra in no time. Throw in a loose-fitting sweater and Bandana and yer LAUGHING, bro. You're the magnet and pussy is electrified iron. You can't lose. Losers lose. Look at these arms, dude. Would a loser own seven Affliction t-shirts and sculpted arms swirled in tribal tattoos? Thought so.
Seriously man, just BUY 'em!
You could already look fly at the gym in these like-new Zubaz, and you too could look like a retarded meathead fuckstick just like me!
Imagine how cool you'll look, walking around with your witch's brew-like energy drink, checking yourself out in the mirror when nobody's looking, or at home wacking off to your ceiling-mounted Kevin Sorbo poster. Believe me, I've done plenty of the three and it makes me the incredible-looking specimen with traps to die for that I am today. Anything to mask the fact that my soul is dying.
Some people would want to know why a guy would wear Zubaz, or do steroids. The answer is simple: to look astonishing to the ladies, faggot! There's nothing that turns on a woman more having a body that looks like a mattress a bunch of stank homeless perverts had group sex on. Do you know how many ladies have asked to touch these arms? Plenty. Granted, I never had sex with them since my generally poisonous and sexist attitude towards females serves as a deterrent, but scope these fuckin' BICEPS, bro. You quiver in jealousy and fear, don't you?
So you need to buy these fucking Zubaz. You too could have the legs of a baggy gay zebra in no time. Throw in a loose-fitting sweater and Bandana and yer LAUGHING, bro. You're the magnet and pussy is electrified iron. You can't lose. Losers lose. Look at these arms, dude. Would a loser own seven Affliction t-shirts and sculpted arms swirled in tribal tattoos? Thought so.
Seriously man, just BUY 'em!
Saturday, March 31, 2012
AND NOW, A WORD FROM THE GUY YOU JUST BUMPED INTO...
"What the FUCK, bro? You spilled my fucking drink! No, I don't want you to buy me another! I want to take you outside and spank your little bottom blue in front of all these fine lookin' bitches."
You see, I have problems maintaining relationships because of a poor moral upbringing, so I push that out of memory by making fun of gays, yelling at women from cars and define "going out" by doing shots of Canadian Club in my studio apartment picking fights with any guy that looks at me or makes contact with me at the bar. I'm not getting laid, why not take that simmered rage out on somebody not asking for it?
"Oh, you 'just want to have fun with your buddies?', are you as big of a faggot as you look? Tweeter, hold my coat. Ricky, watch my back. I can't wait for outside. I'm going to rain dance on this half a pussy right now, rape his corpse and buy rounds for these ladies with his pocket money!"
This is where I hope my buddies pull me away to make me look like I'm not backing down. Perhaps an alert bouncer may try to make peace. Anything to make me look like a big, macho man. My friends are no help. We feed off each other's pathetic delusions that tough-talking and cheap shots are what get the girls. We say lude things to them driving by, strike out when we get too loaded, and can't keep girlfriends because of jealousy that's basically pulled out of our asses. I'm 29 and still have only lived with roommates. But, whatever. In the meantime I need to fill my own life-void by making myself look like I'm not to be fucked with:
"I will fucking END you, bro. I will fucking RUIN you, bro."
I am making this point while tapping you sharply in the chest, because this is simply all I have in life. My friends will never know that I cry myself to sleep three times a week, chances are they're competing with that number. The last time I had a one night stand was fourteen months ago, and she made have been passed out but I honestly didn't care that much since action's action. I have always seriously considered a change in game plans. However, when you have the opportunity to ruin somebody else's night while your sycophant gecko buddies leap behind you like cheerleaders, you go for it.
"Yeah, walk away pussy. OWNED. Don't cry, now. Just as I thought!"
I am thankful you decided to take the high road. That fact of the matter is I'm not that tough, but most guys want to avoid fights for some reason. I've watched Road House 72 times. Fight Club three times that amount. I have, however, taken no actual training whatsoever because I'm actually afraid of being hit. I will NEVER let that secret out.
I will stand my ground, puff up my chest, and be the biggest Johnny Cheesedick in the whole bar. Chances of dying alone increase every day, so I push out the thought with cheap cocaine and Grey Goose. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to grind girl's ass cheeks on the dance floor without permission. They will try to move away from me in a non-chalant way and I will not take the hint.
You see, I have problems maintaining relationships because of a poor moral upbringing, so I push that out of memory by making fun of gays, yelling at women from cars and define "going out" by doing shots of Canadian Club in my studio apartment picking fights with any guy that looks at me or makes contact with me at the bar. I'm not getting laid, why not take that simmered rage out on somebody not asking for it?
"Oh, you 'just want to have fun with your buddies?', are you as big of a faggot as you look? Tweeter, hold my coat. Ricky, watch my back. I can't wait for outside. I'm going to rain dance on this half a pussy right now, rape his corpse and buy rounds for these ladies with his pocket money!"
This is where I hope my buddies pull me away to make me look like I'm not backing down. Perhaps an alert bouncer may try to make peace. Anything to make me look like a big, macho man. My friends are no help. We feed off each other's pathetic delusions that tough-talking and cheap shots are what get the girls. We say lude things to them driving by, strike out when we get too loaded, and can't keep girlfriends because of jealousy that's basically pulled out of our asses. I'm 29 and still have only lived with roommates. But, whatever. In the meantime I need to fill my own life-void by making myself look like I'm not to be fucked with:
"I will fucking END you, bro. I will fucking RUIN you, bro."
I am making this point while tapping you sharply in the chest, because this is simply all I have in life. My friends will never know that I cry myself to sleep three times a week, chances are they're competing with that number. The last time I had a one night stand was fourteen months ago, and she made have been passed out but I honestly didn't care that much since action's action. I have always seriously considered a change in game plans. However, when you have the opportunity to ruin somebody else's night while your sycophant gecko buddies leap behind you like cheerleaders, you go for it.
"Yeah, walk away pussy. OWNED. Don't cry, now. Just as I thought!"
I am thankful you decided to take the high road. That fact of the matter is I'm not that tough, but most guys want to avoid fights for some reason. I've watched Road House 72 times. Fight Club three times that amount. I have, however, taken no actual training whatsoever because I'm actually afraid of being hit. I will NEVER let that secret out.
I will stand my ground, puff up my chest, and be the biggest Johnny Cheesedick in the whole bar. Chances of dying alone increase every day, so I push out the thought with cheap cocaine and Grey Goose. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to grind girl's ass cheeks on the dance floor without permission. They will try to move away from me in a non-chalant way and I will not take the hint.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
DODGING METROSEXUALITY: Footwear Faggotry
You've probably heard of Esquire magazine-- they're the assholes that basically shout at men that if you're not an individual that follows their rules, you're simply not a man. This, coming from a shitrag that has a full-page advertisement content taking up 45% of each issue. One of this magazine's missions in the last ten years is to eliminate heterosexuality in heterosexual males, saying you should go to day spas and own at least TEN pairs of shoes. The FUCK choo say, meng?! I don't understand this sudden de-ballification of the male species.
I'm not too sure where it started, one day a guy threw on a striped shirt, wore it to a bar, and the seventh seal opened. The base majority of males these days are so goddamn obsessed with presentation. I mean, day spas for men? Let me save you some time and money: do you have two eyebrows? Good. We're done. And don't you love when you see the dude getting the manicure done, but he's facing away from the front window so nobody he knows might see him? Just because you're sporting a shit-eating grin it, doesn't hide the fact that you've been eating shit. With the money you could save on those unnecessary metrosexual rituals you could be spending on lunch time rub n' tugs at that place next door to the cemetery.
But as far as shoes go, a man needs not ten. Four, maybe five. Those would include:
Universal Beat-Up Running Shoes
They have a few years of use, so they are perfectly contoured and comfy. You can perform minor athletics in them, chill out, mow the lawn or hop in a Delorean and make sure your mom and dad meet.
Sandals/Open Foot Summer footwear
Almost any place will get hot for a while, and shoes can suck in the heat. Keep in mind wear you stick them, since feet have a tendency to freak people out, or turn them on in the weirder sector.
Dress Shoes
Black or Brown, your choice. Something that isn't contemporary. If you work a dressy office job or the like, another pair would be perfectly acceptable. Putting tap plates on the soles would we rad as well, I did that for my mom to prevent her from killing me with a pillow in my sleep.
Steel-Toed Workboots
Yes, you should own them. When I was a teenager, I used them to kick white people with dreadlocks in the face while crowd surfing at Lollapalooza, as an adult they prevent my entire foot from being shattered. Not one to be worn around, but always kept handy. Like that dress you stole out of your ex-girlfriend's house. The lacy one with the feathered collar.
Extra option:
Sports/Cleated Shoes
Most guys over 25 should have golf shoes handy, even if you're not a player chances are you may have to play for some meeting or business expense or you're ordered to entertain the bosses nephew or he'll slit you from neck to nuts. Don't be that guy out there playing in lime green Reebok Pumps. In fact, why are you wearing Reebok Pumps? Aren't they like 22 years old? Sports shoes are also acceptable for a sport you may play in. No witty comment.
...Really, is there any others that you need? I'm sure there's some context of environment here, but I honestly think things are turning into the 1980's now the way the 90's were like the late 60's. Now, the music is sappy and shitty, the boys are feathering and styling their hair and putting getting laid first, and the clothes have no taste and will be laughed at in ten years. But the worst thing of all is this metrosexual surge. This exhaustive need for attention. We are men. We don't need six different style of clubbin' footwear. We don't need running shoes just to play video games in. We don't need to sculpt our eyebrows or shave our beards so they're as thin as a gnat's dick and wear sunglasses at night. Only Corey Hart could do that. And he was popular in the 80's. Which was three decades ago.
.
I'm not too sure where it started, one day a guy threw on a striped shirt, wore it to a bar, and the seventh seal opened. The base majority of males these days are so goddamn obsessed with presentation. I mean, day spas for men? Let me save you some time and money: do you have two eyebrows? Good. We're done. And don't you love when you see the dude getting the manicure done, but he's facing away from the front window so nobody he knows might see him? Just because you're sporting a shit-eating grin it, doesn't hide the fact that you've been eating shit. With the money you could save on those unnecessary metrosexual rituals you could be spending on lunch time rub n' tugs at that place next door to the cemetery.
But as far as shoes go, a man needs not ten. Four, maybe five. Those would include:
Universal Beat-Up Running Shoes
They have a few years of use, so they are perfectly contoured and comfy. You can perform minor athletics in them, chill out, mow the lawn or hop in a Delorean and make sure your mom and dad meet.
Sandals/Open Foot Summer footwear
Almost any place will get hot for a while, and shoes can suck in the heat. Keep in mind wear you stick them, since feet have a tendency to freak people out, or turn them on in the weirder sector.
Dress Shoes
Black or Brown, your choice. Something that isn't contemporary. If you work a dressy office job or the like, another pair would be perfectly acceptable. Putting tap plates on the soles would we rad as well, I did that for my mom to prevent her from killing me with a pillow in my sleep.
Steel-Toed Workboots
Yes, you should own them. When I was a teenager, I used them to kick white people with dreadlocks in the face while crowd surfing at Lollapalooza, as an adult they prevent my entire foot from being shattered. Not one to be worn around, but always kept handy. Like that dress you stole out of your ex-girlfriend's house. The lacy one with the feathered collar.
Extra option:
Sports/Cleated Shoes
Most guys over 25 should have golf shoes handy, even if you're not a player chances are you may have to play for some meeting or business expense or you're ordered to entertain the bosses nephew or he'll slit you from neck to nuts. Don't be that guy out there playing in lime green Reebok Pumps. In fact, why are you wearing Reebok Pumps? Aren't they like 22 years old? Sports shoes are also acceptable for a sport you may play in. No witty comment.
...Really, is there any others that you need? I'm sure there's some context of environment here, but I honestly think things are turning into the 1980's now the way the 90's were like the late 60's. Now, the music is sappy and shitty, the boys are feathering and styling their hair and putting getting laid first, and the clothes have no taste and will be laughed at in ten years. But the worst thing of all is this metrosexual surge. This exhaustive need for attention. We are men. We don't need six different style of clubbin' footwear. We don't need running shoes just to play video games in. We don't need to sculpt our eyebrows or shave our beards so they're as thin as a gnat's dick and wear sunglasses at night. Only Corey Hart could do that. And he was popular in the 80's. Which was three decades ago.
.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
HOW TO LOSE THE RESPECT OF YOUR FRIENDS/CO-WORKERS: A dissection of Karaoke Night
If there is two words that will make me do a 180 from a bar, those words would be "karaoke night". Goddamn it. Kill it with fire and brimstone. You know, sometimes getting hammered and singing for fun can be fun...to YOU. To everyone else in the room, they can't WAIT for you to finish the long form version of Harry Chapin's Taxi so they can give you a towel party in the parking lot.
As a D.J., I had to host these things on occasion. Rare occasion, since I told past employers that I would only do them in an emergency. Because no matter where you go, you will ALWAYS get the same people:
Guilty Party: The Flock of Shrieking Drunk Chicks
Typical Songs: Like A Prayer, I Will Survive, Wannabe
Guys will tolerate almost anything from a drunk woman if it means getting into her panties, so they tolerate this insane tone-deaf display as eight untalented tee-hees say "fuck you" to microphone feedback and eardrums as they pulverize your soul with horrible songs swung even MORE horribly. They invented outdoor patios for a reason, and now is the time to check one out.
Guilty Party: The Ladies Man
Typical Songs: I'll Be, Amazed, With Arms Wide Open, Angel Eyes
One thing is for sure: this guy is going home with pussy tonight because of his sweet skills with a mic. He dresses like a true playa and serenades the ladies like a true creep. His problem is, NOBODY is a star singing karaoke, even the talented ones. Instead, he lives in his delusional bubble until he finally ends up where he belongs: back in his studio apartment, masturbating while crying.
Guilty Party: Star Search Wannabe
Typical Songs: Just about anything, the table is open
He eats, breaths, sleeps, jerks off to karaoke. He once got past an American Idol prelim and that is his one achievement in life. He know where karaoke is at a specific bar for every night of the week. He has has time for about seven songs in the rotation, but hands in about twenty in case he gets one of his last second changes of heart that the host loves so much. He's CONSTANTLY asking "Am I on soon?" and when he is, he REALLY wants to get the crowd in on it, whether it's sing-along hand douche gestures or air guitaring like retarded kid at an Good Charlotte concert. He will he WILL rock you.
Guilty Party: The Guy Who Doesn't Want To Be Up There
Typical Songs: Something boring his friends picked
Dude, just because your friends badgered you a little bit and you're shy doesn't mean you have to go up there, stare at the floor and monotone your milquetoast ass into the mic for four minutes and kill every buzz in the room like you were paid to do it. Sack up and tell your friends to go fuck themselves like the sensible people do. You could BE that someday, champ!
Guilty Party: The "Cute" Couple
Typical Songs: Barbie Girl, Summer Nights, Love Shack
Shit-eating grins, singing to each other like they're trying to teach each other fucking magic tricks, these are the poster children for the Single Crowd. But no, go right ahead. Despite your awesome lack of ability, it's just SO fucking hilarious and original when she sings the man part and he sings the girl's! Seriously, I've never seen that before. Where is the redneck crowd from The Blues Brothers when you need them?
Guilty Party: Dr. Shitface
Typical Songs: You probably won't be able to tell.
They tap the microphone loud, slur words, scream vulgarities at random moments, they can barely stand up and they don't give even give a shit that they're up there. But they WILL sing Hotel California if it causes every single one of their friends to ditch them prematurely, goddammit!
Guilty Party: The Guy who tries to sound like The Original Artist
Typical Songs: Anything from an 'Uur Band (Creed, Pearl Jam, Nickelback)
You don't sound like them, you aren't a singer, stop trying, dude. It's bad enough you're singing "How You Remind Me" enough as it already is. Now you're just raping a corpse.
So come one, come all. Have co-workers never look at you at work the same again! Get your friends to tell mean stories about you behind your back about your delusional self-talent! Sound like the world's biggest fag while doing the actions to "Knock Three Times"! Just count me out.
As a D.J., I had to host these things on occasion. Rare occasion, since I told past employers that I would only do them in an emergency. Because no matter where you go, you will ALWAYS get the same people:
Guilty Party: The Flock of Shrieking Drunk Chicks
Typical Songs: Like A Prayer, I Will Survive, Wannabe
Guys will tolerate almost anything from a drunk woman if it means getting into her panties, so they tolerate this insane tone-deaf display as eight untalented tee-hees say "fuck you" to microphone feedback and eardrums as they pulverize your soul with horrible songs swung even MORE horribly. They invented outdoor patios for a reason, and now is the time to check one out.
Guilty Party: The Ladies Man
Typical Songs: I'll Be, Amazed, With Arms Wide Open, Angel Eyes
One thing is for sure: this guy is going home with pussy tonight because of his sweet skills with a mic. He dresses like a true playa and serenades the ladies like a true creep. His problem is, NOBODY is a star singing karaoke, even the talented ones. Instead, he lives in his delusional bubble until he finally ends up where he belongs: back in his studio apartment, masturbating while crying.
Guilty Party: Star Search Wannabe
Typical Songs: Just about anything, the table is open
He eats, breaths, sleeps, jerks off to karaoke. He once got past an American Idol prelim and that is his one achievement in life. He know where karaoke is at a specific bar for every night of the week. He has has time for about seven songs in the rotation, but hands in about twenty in case he gets one of his last second changes of heart that the host loves so much. He's CONSTANTLY asking "Am I on soon?" and when he is, he REALLY wants to get the crowd in on it, whether it's sing-along hand douche gestures or air guitaring like retarded kid at an Good Charlotte concert. He will he WILL rock you.
Guilty Party: The Guy Who Doesn't Want To Be Up There
Typical Songs: Something boring his friends picked
Dude, just because your friends badgered you a little bit and you're shy doesn't mean you have to go up there, stare at the floor and monotone your milquetoast ass into the mic for four minutes and kill every buzz in the room like you were paid to do it. Sack up and tell your friends to go fuck themselves like the sensible people do. You could BE that someday, champ!
Guilty Party: The "Cute" Couple
Typical Songs: Barbie Girl, Summer Nights, Love Shack
Shit-eating grins, singing to each other like they're trying to teach each other fucking magic tricks, these are the poster children for the Single Crowd. But no, go right ahead. Despite your awesome lack of ability, it's just SO fucking hilarious and original when she sings the man part and he sings the girl's! Seriously, I've never seen that before. Where is the redneck crowd from The Blues Brothers when you need them?
Guilty Party: Dr. Shitface
Typical Songs: You probably won't be able to tell.
They tap the microphone loud, slur words, scream vulgarities at random moments, they can barely stand up and they don't give even give a shit that they're up there. But they WILL sing Hotel California if it causes every single one of their friends to ditch them prematurely, goddammit!
Guilty Party: The Guy who tries to sound like The Original Artist
Typical Songs: Anything from an 'Uur Band (Creed, Pearl Jam, Nickelback)
You don't sound like them, you aren't a singer, stop trying, dude. It's bad enough you're singing "How You Remind Me" enough as it already is. Now you're just raping a corpse.
So come one, come all. Have co-workers never look at you at work the same again! Get your friends to tell mean stories about you behind your back about your delusional self-talent! Sound like the world's biggest fag while doing the actions to "Knock Three Times"! Just count me out.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
SOFTBALL: what passes for "sports" in your thirties
I guess one of the downsides of having a head injury is that you can't play contact a.k.a "fun" sports anymore. For me, it was no more hockey, no more wrestling, no more no-rules Indoor Riccochet Death Frisbee. Us guys, the majority of us in some way or the other love sports. If we're not trying to cripple our own best friends out on a field, we're screaming while drunk at overpaid millionaires on drugs at how soft they are between bites of an extra large hoagie. We love competetion and shit smashing into other shit. We'll drive a roadtrip all the way to Arizona just so see what happens to the car when we pack the trunk with fertizlizer and gasoline and then drive it off a canyon cliff.
So when you start getting older and creakier, you have to take it easier. My friends found a nice compromise: softball. It's still a sport, but you won't get killed by a wild pitch and you can drink beer while doing it, which is fine by me. "Competitive" is not something that's associated with me, but when it comes to some people they will die for the sake of their team (or more accurately, THEIR sake), which is sponsored by a dive bar and co-sponsored by that half-retarded guy with the scary-looking cataracts that runs the live bait stand on the weekends. It's unreal how many take this shit seriously, especially the men. I am sorry, you cannot be taken seriously when you're arguing if you're wearing shorts and stirrup socks. It's just plain science.
And boy do they love to argue, usually with solo umpires who are only there to avoid spending time with their wives for a few hours a week. Go ahead, throw your glove down in the dirt over a bad call! You had so much riding on this BIG GAME, after all softball (we call it "slo-PItch in the Frozen North) is what we like to refer to as Serious Business. If you can't beat the McCarthur Plumbing Buttmonkeys, how will you face your family? There they are, cheering you from the sidelines. You promised your son a home run and if you don't, he'll die of cancer. Your wife hasn't had a reason to date you since high school when you were a sports star and the novelty of making you wear your old varsity jacket while she fucks you with the lights off is wearing thin, so it's your big chance to win your family back. Ooop! You fouled on the third strike! Take a seat, ass-munch and wallow in shame as your son cries. There's no third strike foul here like those big league pussies!
Then, you have the Poseur ball players. Softball is NOT a sport that requires dire athletic ability. Most people can play it. Then, you have the ones that LIVE it. Draped head-to-toe in Under Armour. Backpack equipment bag. A spare ball glove in case your first glove wears out for no reason or is carried off by baseball glove bandits. Pinstripe pants too, because if you're going to LOOK like a total asshole, you might as well look like a Yankee and complete the circle. You're a regular dirt diamond handjob now, Champ! Now back to work on that screenplay, dude. They just haven't recognized your genius yet.
Then, we get to my favourites: the ultra-competitive assholes who ruin the game for everyone. Winning is everything, and if I have to scream at every single fully-grown adult on my team to get the job done than goddamnit thy will be done, or my name ain't Johnny Jackson. Don't swing at pitches that are outside, a walk's as good as a hit! Tag up the the fly, that chick in right field has a weak arm! WHY THE FUCKING WOULDN'T YOU TRY FOR HOME, THE CATCHER CAN'T CATCH WORTH SHIT!! WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY YOU, BITCH!?!!?... Look, sorry, guys, Baby. You know I'm a little competitive, it's just fun to win once in a while, y'know? We're still a team. A family. And like a family, I will mentally abuse you the minute beer hits my lightweight lips.
So here I am, the pitcher on my friend's softball team. I have been hit twice with line drives in four years that I couldn't catch, though I was comforted with "You're lucky, getting hit in the heart with a flight-restrictive ball hurts a lot less" which is a warm thought while lying in dusty, sun-parched dirt while gasping for breath like Doug Quaid decompressing. Then, there was the time I ran around third and passed out at full speed and woke up covered in blood and contusions. I WAS however, "safe" because I managed to torpedo through home into the backstop face-first. That I don't recall.
So yes, so much safer here than contact sports.
So when you start getting older and creakier, you have to take it easier. My friends found a nice compromise: softball. It's still a sport, but you won't get killed by a wild pitch and you can drink beer while doing it, which is fine by me. "Competitive" is not something that's associated with me, but when it comes to some people they will die for the sake of their team (or more accurately, THEIR sake), which is sponsored by a dive bar and co-sponsored by that half-retarded guy with the scary-looking cataracts that runs the live bait stand on the weekends. It's unreal how many take this shit seriously, especially the men. I am sorry, you cannot be taken seriously when you're arguing if you're wearing shorts and stirrup socks. It's just plain science.
And boy do they love to argue, usually with solo umpires who are only there to avoid spending time with their wives for a few hours a week. Go ahead, throw your glove down in the dirt over a bad call! You had so much riding on this BIG GAME, after all softball (we call it "slo-PItch in the Frozen North) is what we like to refer to as Serious Business. If you can't beat the McCarthur Plumbing Buttmonkeys, how will you face your family? There they are, cheering you from the sidelines. You promised your son a home run and if you don't, he'll die of cancer. Your wife hasn't had a reason to date you since high school when you were a sports star and the novelty of making you wear your old varsity jacket while she fucks you with the lights off is wearing thin, so it's your big chance to win your family back. Ooop! You fouled on the third strike! Take a seat, ass-munch and wallow in shame as your son cries. There's no third strike foul here like those big league pussies!
Then, you have the Poseur ball players. Softball is NOT a sport that requires dire athletic ability. Most people can play it. Then, you have the ones that LIVE it. Draped head-to-toe in Under Armour. Backpack equipment bag. A spare ball glove in case your first glove wears out for no reason or is carried off by baseball glove bandits. Pinstripe pants too, because if you're going to LOOK like a total asshole, you might as well look like a Yankee and complete the circle. You're a regular dirt diamond handjob now, Champ! Now back to work on that screenplay, dude. They just haven't recognized your genius yet.
Then, we get to my favourites: the ultra-competitive assholes who ruin the game for everyone. Winning is everything, and if I have to scream at every single fully-grown adult on my team to get the job done than goddamnit thy will be done, or my name ain't Johnny Jackson. Don't swing at pitches that are outside, a walk's as good as a hit! Tag up the the fly, that chick in right field has a weak arm! WHY THE FUCKING WOULDN'T YOU TRY FOR HOME, THE CATCHER CAN'T CATCH WORTH SHIT!! WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY YOU, BITCH!?!!?... Look, sorry, guys, Baby. You know I'm a little competitive, it's just fun to win once in a while, y'know? We're still a team. A family. And like a family, I will mentally abuse you the minute beer hits my lightweight lips.
So here I am, the pitcher on my friend's softball team. I have been hit twice with line drives in four years that I couldn't catch, though I was comforted with "You're lucky, getting hit in the heart with a flight-restrictive ball hurts a lot less" which is a warm thought while lying in dusty, sun-parched dirt while gasping for breath like Doug Quaid decompressing. Then, there was the time I ran around third and passed out at full speed and woke up covered in blood and contusions. I WAS however, "safe" because I managed to torpedo through home into the backstop face-first. That I don't recall.
So yes, so much safer here than contact sports.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
ME & LENNY
Lenny Kravitz and I have a few things in common. For one, we both cheated on Nicole Kidman. Except instead of the company of groupies, I banged Tom Cruise. Another, is we smoke the scary and internationally dreaded "marijuana" for inspiration. He uses it to write his psychedelia-drenched stoner rock, I use it to write half-assed sarcasm that pretty much nobody reads. So, that makes us boyzzz. To know how serious I am, take note the rest of this will be written while extremely high:
Look kids, we "stoners" as you like to call us nowadays-- with our custom vans and lumberjack coats-- give us a lot of grief. It's not our fault, we smoke it to put up with YOUR bitchy intolerance! Just kidding, I luv yas. But what is so bad about the shit? It has been scientifically proven (along with mushrooms) that they are less damaging in short and long term than alcohol or tobacco. The last few celebrities that have died prematurely have been from those friendly prescription drugs-- mostly downers which eat your body like little Ms. Pac Mans-- they were murdered by their own doctors just to shut them up. America consumes 83% of the planet's painkillers. That is some scary shit, why so much pain?
Pot smokers, they aren't tough to deal with. I mean, even if we DO bother you, you just have to throw a frisbee and run in the other direction while we admire how fuckin' round it is. But we aren't putting that poison in our systems.
And we love booze just like YOU party animals!! Oh, FUCK do I love to drink! From straight Canadian rye to those faggy-looking mojitos, alcohol is a very important step in my life. But there's a time and a place for it. I can't use it to kill anger or pain, the wrong affect arises and I don't think my three-year-old daughter would appreciate me throwing her through the sheetrock after mistaking her asking for a glass of water as a midget home invasion because daddy wanted to see if Hemmingway daiquiris could help him to sleep.
We don't like it as an escape. We like it for:
- A painkiller. Which is what I use it for (usually)
- A medical usage. It helps with eye diseases, cancer patients, it's been proven to deflect tourette's syndrome and degenerative bone diseases as well.
- Allows you to rock out to your buddy's shitty jam band without laughing hysterically at the same time.
- Makes a trip to the movies more amusing
- Makes you non-violent, relaxed, easy to contend with.
- You just HEAR the music, man. I see and FEEL the music, motherfucker. Look at me when I'm talking to you... (sometimes people put cocaine in joints)
And we have Woody Harrelson in our corner, too. I LOVE that guy, with his dilated, dead eyes and his love for the booya. Amongst other celebrities, there's McConnehey, Bill Maher and every band that played Lollapalooza in the 90's. Don't forget Steve Jobs and this guy:
Look kids, we "stoners" as you like to call us nowadays-- with our custom vans and lumberjack coats-- give us a lot of grief. It's not our fault, we smoke it to put up with YOUR bitchy intolerance! Just kidding, I luv yas. But what is so bad about the shit? It has been scientifically proven (along with mushrooms) that they are less damaging in short and long term than alcohol or tobacco. The last few celebrities that have died prematurely have been from those friendly prescription drugs-- mostly downers which eat your body like little Ms. Pac Mans-- they were murdered by their own doctors just to shut them up. America consumes 83% of the planet's painkillers. That is some scary shit, why so much pain?
Pot smokers, they aren't tough to deal with. I mean, even if we DO bother you, you just have to throw a frisbee and run in the other direction while we admire how fuckin' round it is. But we aren't putting that poison in our systems.
And we love booze just like YOU party animals!! Oh, FUCK do I love to drink! From straight Canadian rye to those faggy-looking mojitos, alcohol is a very important step in my life. But there's a time and a place for it. I can't use it to kill anger or pain, the wrong affect arises and I don't think my three-year-old daughter would appreciate me throwing her through the sheetrock after mistaking her asking for a glass of water as a midget home invasion because daddy wanted to see if Hemmingway daiquiris could help him to sleep.
We don't like it as an escape. We like it for:
- A painkiller. Which is what I use it for (usually)
- A medical usage. It helps with eye diseases, cancer patients, it's been proven to deflect tourette's syndrome and degenerative bone diseases as well.
- Allows you to rock out to your buddy's shitty jam band without laughing hysterically at the same time.
- Makes a trip to the movies more amusing
- Makes you non-violent, relaxed, easy to contend with.
- You just HEAR the music, man. I see and FEEL the music, motherfucker. Look at me when I'm talking to you... (sometimes people put cocaine in joints)
And we have Woody Harrelson in our corner, too. I LOVE that guy, with his dilated, dead eyes and his love for the booya. Amongst other celebrities, there's McConnehey, Bill Maher and every band that played Lollapalooza in the 90's. Don't forget Steve Jobs and this guy:
See? It even says it under his photo. You're gonna fuck with the Billions And Billions Dude? He used pot to help prove Christianity a sham, don't we all owe it a little something?
If it's not for you, more power to ya. But if you want to try, by all means. I'll doubt I could get mad at my daughter the first time I catch her smoking it (and I will). I'll feel like a hypocrite, and probably just be hurt that she was holding out on me.
Or maybe I'm going to hell because I'm a fucking idiot. Now, where's my propeller hat?
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
BE THE BEST LITTLE ATTENTION WHORE YOU CAN BE!
We now live in the "Me Generation". I guess it's shorter than the "What part of ME don't you understand Generation"
Ah, attention whores. Without you 90% of my rants would be about dried ketchup around the bottle rim. Ironic for me of all people to belittling the club I am so avidly a member of, but there are classifications. I fall into the category of the Ugly Truthers- those who will expose you for what you factually are. Then, there are others...
The Pop Star:
It seems that every female singer nowadays took a cue from The Prodigy's Keith Flint and now go out of their way to look like the ugliest, scariest-looking Hell Clown imaginable. I am talking DIRECTLY TO YOU Nicky Minaj, Lady Gaga, Jessie J and the like. Face it. You're horrendously unattractive and you got dealt a shitty hand. However, instead of leaving us all the hell alone you not only embrace your mediocrity but you put it in bolds, capitals and italics. I mean, look at Nicky Minaj. No really, look at her. If you don't, she'll die.
Minaj recently catapulted herself into the spotlight with a "unique" performance using an alter-ego like so many of the hideous bitches do nowadays. If God saw this horrendous display, he would turn Atheist. It was a disgrace to having eyes and ears, and yet.....two-digit IQ crowd lapped it up and called it brilliant and of course "edgy", the go-to word morons use when they don't understand something. I call them wrong.
The Male Hipster
Women are hipster too, but women hipsters just stand there usually and do what they do best: look stupid. The men however like to flaunt their loserness like a 16-year-old with a new driver's license: their brown-bagged Pabst, their solipsistic opinions towards anyone else's thoughts on pop culture, and of course their fashion sense speaks volumes for them. For instance, a fellow Idiot Board member whathasbeenseen can speak through me for your entertainment:
...isn't being ironic so...ironic? Isn't also that the people who brag about how much they DON'T want attention actually want more attention than any other human being on the face of this earth?
The Two Girls Kissing:
Kids, before you stand in on me just hear me out: Ladies, we appreciate the show. What we don't appreciate is the fact you think we are naive enough to buy into the show. It isn't real. You won't actually be scissoring each other later on and you never go past first base because you CRAVE MALE ATTENTION. To the women that actually ARE into this, well, you go girl!
I'm Awesome:
The internet gave way to a flood of people who never would have become famous through Hollywood or other pop culture machines-- many of them "normal" people just talked about their own life, some exploded into popularity like Tucker Max and The Philadelphia Lawyer. It was observational humour written with brutal honesty, the problem is is spawned 100,000 other repulsively egotistic douchebags who tried to use megalomania as a front and is fails miserably. Sure it gave them temporary fame, but not in the way they wanted. John Fitzgerald Page tried to demonstrate to women how awesome he was in every department, but he didn't admit to the fact that he was a balding, out-of-shape cunt. His match.com post to some woman says it all:
...wow. WOW. An 8.9, huh? Naked, perverted gay 300 pound men find this dipshit to be quite a dish. There are so many of these dinks out there: Arthur Kade, Ryan Milliron, Joey Porsche and of course the sensuous photos of Lee Hotti and his boyyyyyyyyyyyyz. Winners all.
So, where do we go from here? The internet and TV has given everyone a license to stand on a soapbox and do whatever the fuck they want, so that's that. What can the rest of us do? Well, if you're one of us, you can expose these tools. The only way to end a trend is to stop liking it, and you can start by not liking Jersey Shore.
Ah, attention whores. Without you 90% of my rants would be about dried ketchup around the bottle rim. Ironic for me of all people to belittling the club I am so avidly a member of, but there are classifications. I fall into the category of the Ugly Truthers- those who will expose you for what you factually are. Then, there are others...
The Pop Star:
It seems that every female singer nowadays took a cue from The Prodigy's Keith Flint and now go out of their way to look like the ugliest, scariest-looking Hell Clown imaginable. I am talking DIRECTLY TO YOU Nicky Minaj, Lady Gaga, Jessie J and the like. Face it. You're horrendously unattractive and you got dealt a shitty hand. However, instead of leaving us all the hell alone you not only embrace your mediocrity but you put it in bolds, capitals and italics. I mean, look at Nicky Minaj. No really, look at her. If you don't, she'll die.
Minaj recently catapulted herself into the spotlight with a "unique" performance using an alter-ego like so many of the hideous bitches do nowadays. If God saw this horrendous display, he would turn Atheist. It was a disgrace to having eyes and ears, and yet.....two-digit IQ crowd lapped it up and called it brilliant and of course "edgy", the go-to word morons use when they don't understand something. I call them wrong.
The Male Hipster
Women are hipster too, but women hipsters just stand there usually and do what they do best: look stupid. The men however like to flaunt their loserness like a 16-year-old with a new driver's license: their brown-bagged Pabst, their solipsistic opinions towards anyone else's thoughts on pop culture, and of course their fashion sense speaks volumes for them. For instance, a fellow Idiot Board member whathasbeenseen can speak through me for your entertainment:
I saw this Indian guy in the tube this morning with a haircut straight out of No Country For Old Men, some gigantic off-brand headphones, a ready tied bow tie, hipster glasses and blue wing tips. Mind you he was also over 6'3. I rubbed my eyes and just shook my head at how my brain could not process that level of a need for attention.
...isn't being ironic so...ironic? Isn't also that the people who brag about how much they DON'T want attention actually want more attention than any other human being on the face of this earth?
The Two Girls Kissing:
Kids, before you stand in on me just hear me out: Ladies, we appreciate the show. What we don't appreciate is the fact you think we are naive enough to buy into the show. It isn't real. You won't actually be scissoring each other later on and you never go past first base because you CRAVE MALE ATTENTION. To the women that actually ARE into this, well, you go girl!
I'm Awesome:
The internet gave way to a flood of people who never would have become famous through Hollywood or other pop culture machines-- many of them "normal" people just talked about their own life, some exploded into popularity like Tucker Max and The Philadelphia Lawyer. It was observational humour written with brutal honesty, the problem is is spawned 100,000 other repulsively egotistic douchebags who tried to use megalomania as a front and is fails miserably. Sure it gave them temporary fame, but not in the way they wanted. John Fitzgerald Page tried to demonstrate to women how awesome he was in every department, but he didn't admit to the fact that he was a balding, out-of-shape cunt. His match.com post to some woman says it all:
"I think you forgot how this works. You hit on me, and therefore have to impress ME and pass MY criteria and standards - not vice versa. 6 pictures of just your head and your inability to answer a simple question lets me know one thing. You are not in shape. I am a trainer on the side, in fact, I am heading to the gym in 26 minutes!
So next time you meet a guy of my caliber, instead of trying to turn it around, just get to the gym! I will even give you one free training session, so you don't blow it with the next 8.9 on Hot or Not, Ivy League grad, Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1200 lbs., has had lunch with the secretary of defense, has an MBA from the top school in the country, lives in a Buckhead high rise, drives a Beemer convertible, has been in 14 major motion pictures, was in Jezebel's Best dressed, etc. Oh, that is right, there aren't any more of those!
Regards,
John
...wow. WOW. An 8.9, huh? Naked, perverted gay 300 pound men find this dipshit to be quite a dish. There are so many of these dinks out there: Arthur Kade, Ryan Milliron, Joey Porsche and of course the sensuous photos of Lee Hotti and his boyyyyyyyyyyyyz. Winners all.
So, where do we go from here? The internet and TV has given everyone a license to stand on a soapbox and do whatever the fuck they want, so that's that. What can the rest of us do? Well, if you're one of us, you can expose these tools. The only way to end a trend is to stop liking it, and you can start by not liking Jersey Shore.
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